


Rely on Me

by novocaine_sea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Taichi is evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novocaine_sea/pseuds/novocaine_sea
Summary: It was during one of the first games they played in the Interhigh Prelims that Shirabu knew Goshiki was going to be a Problem. It only got worse when Goshiki was appointed at ace, and Shirabu seemingly could not escape him.





	Rely on Me

**Author's Note:**

> I STILL HAVE AN HOUR LEFT OF SHIRABU’S BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DARLING!!! I have given you... puppy.

It was during one of the first games they played in the Interhigh Prelims that Shirabu knew Goshiki was going to be a Problem. Even though he was a first year, Goshiki seemed to want the spotlight on himself, constantly challenging Ushijima on the court and in practice, frequently declaring that he would be the ace too someday. It was frustrating and incredibly annoying.

Shirabu blocked it out, for the most part. He had Ushijima to focus on. Some first year with too much confidence couldn’t faze him.

Well, until they played Aoba Johsai. It seemed as if seeing two great aces go head to head excited Goshiki. He could barely serve within the lines, giving up points on each rotation, and he almost missed a toss Shirabu had thrown his way. It was the first and only toss Shirabu sent him during the entire first set.

He could see Oikawa Tooru smirking at him from across the net, which painted Shirabu’s vision crimson. He was a much better setter than Oikawa would ever be. He’d show him _and_ Ushijima.

His skills hadn’t gone unnoticed by Goshiki, however.

“Shirabu-san!” Goshiki called loudly after Aoba Johsai’s ace, Iwaizumi Hajime, scored another point for his team. Shirabu cringed at the volume of his voice and only slid his eyes sideways before looking forward once more. “I can do that too! Please rely on me!” He saw Goshiki bend into a bow from the corner of his eye.

“Hah?”

The first year straightened again as Shirabu rounded to face him, ball in hand to toss back over the net. Caramel eyes narrowed on Goshiki, who was shaking like a frightened puppy. All of his confidence evaporated with the chilly look set upon him from the setter.

“I mean! I can get a spike too! Please... send me a toss...”

“You couldn’t do it before, so what makes you think you can do it now?” Shirabu questioned, turning away from him now, ignoring Goshiki’s crestfallen expression. “My job is to rely on Ushijima-san, our _ace_. You should do the same.”

They managed to win the game against Aoba Johsai and secure a spot at nationals. Even then, Goshiki didn’t seem too thrilled about it. Shirabu let Tendou do all the dirty work, even if it meant being lectured by the Guess Monster (or worse, Semi Eita) himself later on. He didn’t care. He’d only told Goshiki the truth; Ushijima was their ace and therefore, got the most tosses. Shirabu wasn’t going to waste his time sending tosses to somebody who could barely get the ball over the net. He had no idea why their Coach had even made him a regular.

Apparently luck was not on Shirabu’s side between the Interhigh and Nationals because Washijou enlisted him to help Goshiki with his spiking during practice. There was an argument on his tongue, but Shirabu knew that fighting with Coach Washijou was practically a death wish and Shirabu did not want to be doing laps until he was fifty.

“Thank you for helping me, Shirabu-san!” Goshiki exclaimed loudly with a bow the next day at practice when Shirabu pulled him aside. Shirabu’s glowering only grew when he heard the wild cackles coming from both Tendou and Yamagata across the gym. They weren’t being discreet in the slightest, openly laughing at Shirabu’s pain.

That was fine. He could get them back. Eventually. Somehow. Shirabu would normally be respectful of his seniors, but one of the things he hated the most was being laughed at.

This went on until the Spring Interhigh Playoffs, staying late with Goshiki so that the two of them could sync up on the court. Shirabu already had a ton of experience with Ushijima and the way he liked his tosses, but Goshiki was all over the place with his own. But, and he would never admit it, Shirabu began tossing to Goshiki more and more during actual games. The reality was that Ushijima was going to graduate whether he liked it or not, and Goshiki was going to be the ace of their team.

There wouldn’t be an ace without the setter, and Shirabu knew this. So he had to be his best for both Ushijima _and_ Goshiki.

The loss against Karasuno was painful. Despite starting off extremely confident and even challenging Ushijima, Goshiki completely broke down during their line up. Shirabu himself couldn’t even hold it together. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check but he broke down, floodgates opening and tears blurring his vision. He was angry. And it was nobody’s fault really, even if Yamagata took the blame.

That day, they weren’t the strongest team. Shirabu vowed that he would avenge the third year’s loss next year as Shiratorizawa’s captain and that meant that he really did have to rely on Goshiki. The first year, now second year, was still honing his skills but with Ushijima’s encouraging “I’m counting on you,” Goshiki could flourish.

And gods was it painful relying on Goshiki.

Between graduation and the start of the new school year, Goshiki’s ego had inflated. It drove Shirabu up the wall. The first week of practice before the new first years got there was awful; Goshiki called for every toss, over exerted himself, shouted loudly in everybody’s ears.

“I can’t take it!” Shirabu growled angrily that evening as he slammed his bag down onto the bed.

A familiar sigh sounded from behind him, along with the click of the door. Kawanishi floated through the room like a spirit, light footsteps matching his blasé personality. The bed creaked as Kawanishi made himself comfortably, speaking in a tone that implied this conversation had taken place before, “Take what, Kenjirou?”

“ _Him._ Goshiki! He almost plowed through Sera today trying to get a toss that _clearly_ wasn’t for him!” Shirabu’s poor tie fell a victim to the floor, kicked to the side, only to be seen again on laundry day. Kawanishi watched this act of violence with amusement in his gray eyes.

“He’s just excited. Give the kid a break.”

“ _No._ ”

“You’re not acting very captain like, Kenji-kun.”

“Don’t call me that. And I don’t care.” But the reality was, Shirabu cared a lot. He had big shoes to fill; he was leading the team that Ushijima had left for him. He had to make Ushijima proud and that needed to start with getting Goshiki under control, which was easier said then done. Goshiki liked to obey every order, but he also liked being the center of attention, which didn’t help when he was desperately trying to impress.

Shirabu acted as civil as possible during practice. He barked out instructions to the team and mostly to Goshiki when needed and still worked one on one with him afterwards. Their teamwork still needed finessing, but even Shirabu could see improvements.

But (and there’s always a but) the first years showing up kind of screwed everything up.

The new first years were good. They exceeded Shirabu’s expectations, but he shouldn’t have doubted them. They were at Shiratorizawa after all, the greatest team in their prefecture, Karasuno be damned. Shirabu took the time to analyze everybody’s play style, seeing who needed the most improvement and who would fit into their team the best.

There was an ever looking shadow in their midst, a certain second year looming over them, watching like a hawk for anybody that may take his spot.

“Kohatsu-kun!” Shirabu called to one promising first year, wanting to see his form up close now that they were playing practice matches. Goshiki it seemed, had other ideas, and he ran up to spike the ball before Kohatsu even had the chance.

That was the last straw for Shirabu.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shirabu shouted. All the first years had been looking starry eyed at Goshiki for his magnificent spike, but it was replaced with fear at the tone of Shirabu’s voice.  Shirabu never raised his voice, at least not in their vicinity.

“Um...” Goshiki visibly swallowed. He’d fucked up.

“I wasn’t aware that your name was Kohatsu. Would you like to tell me how and _why_ you ran from one side of the court to the other to claim a toss that wasn’t yours?” Shirabu’s voice was calming, which was never a good sign. Kawanishi quietly excused himself elsewhere. He may be vice captain, but he wasn’t about to deal with the fuming captain.

“I-“

“You think just because you’re the ace you can claim every single toss? You think you have enough stamina to do that? Your job is to be there when the team is falling apart, not break our own team at the seams. Do you want to be like that Mad Dog at Seijou? Untameable, unable to follow a simple direction such as ‘that toss is not yours?’ I’ve told you this time and time again.”

Goshiki’s eyes grew wide and they almost shimmered; Shirabu felt kind of guilty for doing this in front of everyone. But it needed to be said. He was sick of Goshiki showing off, sick of him acting like a completely different athlete now that there were new players on the court. “Shirabu-San...”

“You’re not going to get any tosses at all if you can’t be out of the spotlight for a single second. The ace should gather attention by naturally being the strongest on the team and you are _forcing it_ ,” Shirabu’s voice cracked in anger and he took a deep breath. He had more to say, more to get out-

“Shirabu.” Washijou’s voice boomed from behind them and they all stopped moving. Shirabu closed his eyes and braced himself. “Go.” It was a simple command, but he knew to drop the ball and to start running outside of the gym. He heard the whispers of the underclassmen saying that he was scary, that they didn’t want to get on his bad side. Shirabu never wanted to be a captain that people were terrified of. Ushijima was never like that. It was just the fact that Goshiki so effectively got under his skin that it made Shirabu want to explode. And he had, in front of everyone.

It was time to suck up his pride and apologize.

“I’m sorry,” He grit out to Goshiki after practice. The boy’s back was stiff as he filled up his water bottle to take another drink. Shirabu wasn’t even sure that Goshiki had heard him.

“It’s fine!” Goshiki exclaimed with too much cheer in his voice. It crushed Shirabu. “I’ll wait for your call, Shirabu-San! Please rely on me!” He jogged off towards the gym before Shirabu could get in another word.

That night, the bag _and_ the tie were subject to Shirabu’s abuse, slammed on the floor along with the boy himself. His aching fingers buried in sandy hair and tugged, letting out a frustrated groan.

“You shouldn’t yell at him,” Kawanishi spoke from where he was undressing across the room. “You know how he is. He wants nothing more than for you to see him.”

“I _do_ see him. Too much of him...”

Shirabu could practically hear Kawanishi roll his eyes, it was so apparent in the air around them. “You know what I mean. He wants you to acknowledge that he’s the most important person on the team.”

“The _setter_ is the most important person on the team.” Shirabu’s the conductor, making sure all the notes fall into the right place and land on the other side of the stands. An orchestra is not perfect if there is a violin out of tune, and a team is not perfect if their ace cannot share the spotlight.

“The most important person for the team’s morale then.” There was a weight on him as Kawanishi leaned on him, the scent of banana wafting through the air and making Shirabu scrunch up his nose. “If you got to know him, maybe he wouldn’t try so hard to impress you. You’re so cold, Kenjirou. Try thawing out a bit.”

Shirabu scowled. He hated to admit it, but Kawanishi was right. Shirabu had never tried to understand anybody besides Ushijima. Kawanishi has been a default, as the two of them lived together and happened to play on the same team. Sometimes he wished that Kawanishi didn’t play both the devil and the angel on his shoulders, and that he didn’t have to listen to him.

Shirabu made a painful effort to be less of an ass to Goshiki from that moment on. It was difficult, because this was _Goshiki_ , he had his quirks, but so did everybody else. Their one on one sessions started again once Goshiki had gotten over the trauma of being scolded in front of their entire team.

“Why did you want to be the ace so bad?” Shirabu asked one day when they were picking up stray balls.

“The ace is the coolest!” Goshiki stated proudly. Even from a few feet away Shirabu could see the fire burning in dark brown eyes. “Everybody looks to the ace when on the court. The captain can call the shots, but the ace can lead them to victory!” He placed his hands on his hips, “It helps if they’re the same person too!”

Shirabu snorted at his ridiculousness and quickly schooled his expression, trying not to show Goshiki that he’d been intrigued by his response, “Why not be a setter then? The setter is the one that makes the shots happen, you know.”

He received a whine in response, “Shirabu-San! You’re missing the point! You’ll never understand the excitement there is in spiking the ball on the other side of the net, the feeling of satisfaction when the other team doesn’t pick it up. It’s... it’s...!” Goshiki can only express himself in noises, starting with a loud rumble and shouting in faux triumph. Shirabu was getting a headache now but... he had to admire Goshiki’s passion. It was actually kind of... cute.

“Why’d you come to Shiratorizawa then, when you knew there would be a monster in your first year?” Shirabu was unsure if he was referring to Ushijima or Tendou.

“Shiratorizawa has the best team, right? I wanted to play with the best so I could be the best! It was really frustrating having you rely on Ushijima-san rather than me but... we’re going to be a stronger team, right Shirabu-san?”

Shirabu stared at him. Were they? He’d always thought they couldn’t go any further up than when they had Ushijima on their team. But they had to improve and Goshiki could possibly take them to new heights. If he would just listen, that was. He was getting better though, taking direction, honing his skills rather than overreaching.

“We are,” Shirabu decided. Maybe he needed be a little less selfish and let go of the old ways, embrace the new.

He allowed himself to work with Goshiki more, getting to know him on and off the court. Their first practice match with another school actually went really well, Shirabu calling Goshiki’s name frequently and Goshiki acting like a decoy when he needed to. It seemed as if getting him in a more serious situation was good for his ego; he could actually calm himself and be less of a puppy and more like a well-trained dog.

“You did well today,” Shirabu passed him a towel. He was still holding it after a few seconds and he looked over at Goshiki to find the younger staring at him in shock, sparkles dancing in his eyes. Kawanishi snorted on Shirabu’s other side, in which the latter ignored. “What?” Shirabu snapped.

“Shirabu-San has never praised me before...” Goshiki clapped his hands together in prayer and he bent forward, “Forgive me!”

The other team was still in their gym, watching them curiously. Shirabu’s cheeks heated up  and he slapped Goshiki with the towel, “Are you an idiot? Can you not take a compliment?”

“But you’ve never given me one before!” Goshiki shot up to argue. Shirabu threw the towel at his face and stormed away, shoving past Kawanishi as the redhead’s shoulders shook in laughter. “Kawanishi-San, is he going to hurt me? What did I do? I thought I did really well today!”

“You did, Tsutomu.”

Shirabu heard all of this as he stomped away towards their locker rooms to change, not wanting to see Goshiki’s face anymore.

Later that day when Goshiki has calmed down and understood, he thanked Shirabu for the compliment. All Shirabu could do was blush at how shy Goshiki had gotten, clamming up in front of him as he shared the praise back. The whole set up smelled like a Kawanishi plan in disguise.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop,” Shirabu warned that night when the two of them laid in bed, Shirabu staring at the ceiling while Kawanishi stared at the underside of Shirabu’s mattress.

“What ever do you mean, dear Kenjirou?”

There was no response given, but somehow, Shirabu felt himself crumbling.

He began noticing the changes in Goshiki more explicitly now. The practice match and the praise he’d received had finally morphed him into somewhat of an ace. He was still a little rough around the edges, obviously calling for shots when he should just be there, but he was getting better.

“Just wait!” Shirabu snapped at him and Goshiki _did_ . He stared at his captain determined, waiting for his cue to run up and get the ball. The best of aces just _knew_ that the ball was for them.

Shirabu was kind of proud when Goshiki started to hold himself like Ushijima; confident, but only overbearing on the court. It was relieving to not have him so obnoxious, even if that was what made Goshiki, Goshiki.

The Interhigh Prelims came and went, and they didn’t make it to Nationals. That was fine, the finals of the Prelims was good enough right now. They were still learning, and there was still room to grow, groom Goshiki into a respectable ace that the first years this year and next year could look up to. Shirabu knew they would be more than ready for the Spring Playoffs, however.

“You know, Shirabu-San,” Goshiki began as they wiped down the court together after practice, “Ever since I started acting more like you, I think I’ve gotten better at volleyball.”

The mop hit the floor with a loud slap as it slipped from Shirabu’s hands. “What?!” His heart was racing. What the hell did that even mean?

“You know! Being calm and cool. Nothing ever bothers you, Shirabu-San. Well, except me of course,” a shy laugh followed and Shirabu balled his fists at his sides. _He thinks I’m cool?_ “I really like you, Shirabu-San! I’m learning a lot from you, thank you for taking care of me!” Goshiki promptly exited, leaving Shirabu staring after him.

What the fuck had just happened? Was that a confession? He was left reeling, head spinning as he finished cleaning the gym by himself and made his way back to the room.

“Everything alright?” Kawanishi asked when Shirabu had done nothing but knock his pen to the floor over and over again later that night.

“Mhm.”

”Did Tsutomu say anything to you?”

Shirabu almost snapped the pen in half. Kawanishi didn’t say anything else, but Shirabu knew that if he turned around, he would be smirking.

Shirabu forced it to the back of his mind. If it was a confession, he would have to let Goshiki down easy. Had he been leading him on? There was no way that Goshiki thought Shirabu had any type of feelings, right? It wasn’t like they’d spent every afternoon together for months, slowly letting their conversations slip from volleyball to more personal issues, right? It wasn’t like he knew that Goshiki’s favorite animal was a raccoon, because he liked how they looked as if they were masked, or how he had absolutely no idea that Goshiki was always cold, sleeping with extra layers on his bed. He didn’t know that Goshiki still had his blanket from when he was a baby that he slept with every night, or that he didn’t have very many friends outside of the volleyball club because he was too loud.

And it wasn’t like Shirabu had told him he’d chosen Shiratorizawa because even though he was smaller, he wanted to feel strong, wanted to be able to effectively lift somebody up, metaphorically and physically. He never uttered to Goshiki that he liked rabbits, and didn’t get mildly embarrassed when Goshiki compared him to one. ‘ _It’s because you look cute, Shirabu-San, but with one bite you can really hurt somebody!’_ He had not bristled at being called cute, because that absolutely didn’t affect him at all.

Shirabu hadn’t become mesmerized with Goshiki’s play style. His name didn’t fit around his lips perfectly, he didn’t get excited during the Playoffs each time he called for the second year and watched him spike the ball, racking up points like every well rounded ace should. He took back what he said; he wasn’t proud at all.

They found themselves in a familiar position. The final game standing between them and nationals against Karasuno. Hinata Shouyou stared them down with golden brown eyes across the net, looking as intimidating as ever. Goshiki had the one up on him, Shirabu thought, because he’d achieved the goal of ace before him. They could win.

The final set was always the most grueling. They were made up of more sweat than skin at this point, panting into the open air. Both teams were exhausted but neither were giving up. Shiratorizawa was at set point.

“Shirabu-San,” Goshiki rasped from behind him. Shirabu turned to meet his eyes, startling a little when he saw the stoniness of his face. Determination was chiseled into his features, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Shirabu only raised an eyebrow, prompting Goshiki to finish.

“Please rely on me.”

Shirabu’s mouth fell open and their eyes stilled on each other. He had to turn away because his face began tingling. Was he smiling? He could feel his skin stretching oddly and he gripped the ball right before he tossed the ball over to the first year serving. Kawanishi looked smug beside him and Shirabu faced the net.

Shirabu fixed his eyes on the ball as it soared over the net. He made sure he always knew where it was, and cheered his teammates to pick it up when it fell on their side. He got into position and the ball touched his finger tips. It was his favorite feeling, the rubber of the volleyball on his fingers, just barely there, always a ghost. It only ever glossed his fingertips unless he was serving, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Goshiki!” He shouted, enunciating every syllable so that Goshiki would understand; this was his moment. This was what Goshiki had been waiting for.

Goshiki ran up, wings spreading behind him before he brought them up and over his head. The eagle had swallowed the crows. The ball fell with a smack to the floor just shy of Karasuno’s third year libero.

The sounds of the gymnasium ceased in Shirabu’s ears, a head rush overwhelming him. He almost fainted. They were going to nationals. They had _won_ and all because he had finally, _finally_ relied on the one person that had been begging him to all along.

All the noise hit him hard, almost knocking him over but thankfully there was weight on every side of him, his teammates crushing him. Most importantly, Goshiki was above him, smiling so bright that it could rival the brightest star in the night sky. He was laughing so freely, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. His lips were forming words but Shirabu could not make out his name, his _name._

“Kenjirou, Kenjirou!” It was familiar and warm and Shirabu wanted to hear it again. He could barely process a thing until they were back on the bus, the festivities still high but Shirabu and Goshiki sharing the back of the bus.

“Tsutomu,” Shirabu said softly, not that he had to be too quiet considering the buzz from their team. Goshiki looked so hopeful and Shirabu leaned back until they were out of sight, tugging Goshiki with him, “I like you too.” It was an answer from weeks prior, but it stood. He liked Goshiki. Maybe he even loved him. And it wasn’t because he’d won them the game. After spending so much time together, he really cared for this idiot.

Goshiki gasped, a soft sound, too soft for their current moods. It matched the texture of his lips, smooth and gentle against Shirabu’s, so unlike Goshiki it almost took him off guard. But Shirabu was able to catch up, tangling his fingers in thick black locks so that he couldn’t pull away. He’d taste victory and he wanted more, knowing that he could find it as he delved into Goshiki’s mouth.

Shirabu would’ve kept going if it weren’t for the shutter of a phone camera. In horror and frightening anger, he turned to look at Kawanishi smirking above them, phone in hand.

“You’re welcome,” he winked and sat back. Shirabu wanted to lunge but he was trapped under the weight of Goshiki, looking expectantly at him, completely unbothered.

The bus lurched forward and Shirabu thought he may tumble to the ground. He knew he was safe from that impending doom, however; he’d learned to rely on Goshiki for more than being there on the court.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about Shiratorizawa on Twitter


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